


New Heaven Over a Brand New Sky

by sullymygoodname



Series: All Things New Again [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/pseuds/sullymygoodname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Reconnecting</em>, as Sam has insisted on calling it, with the brother you haven't seen or spoken to in almost four years is somewhat of a… It's awkward as fuck, is what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Heaven Over a Brand New Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, blue_fjords, for being the best beta ever. And valancy_joy for being awesomely helpful. [Originally posted at Dreamwidth.](http://sullymygoodname.dreamwidth.org/2535.html)
> 
> The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the creator's imagination or are used fictitiously. This story does not reflect the views or opinions of any actual person portrayed herein.  
> ...Anyway, IT'S JUST ~~CLAY~~ ...er, FICTION!

* * *

About a month ago, out of the blue, Sam had called him. He'd tracked down Dean's new phone number through some sort of convoluted string of people they both used to know (Sam explained all this, but Dean had been too floored at the time to really pay attention) and called him up for the first time in almost four years. They've been talking regularly ever since.

They talk about _now_ , never bring up _then_. Dean's pretty okay with that. He doesn't need to rehash the past (and he doesn't want to fight). He knows he'd said some awful, stupid things that he regrets now. He knows it was his fault that Sam walked out and never looked back. Part of him still thinks Sam could've done it differently… After Dad died, Sam was all he'd had left. Sam and the family business: _Winchester & Sons - Hunting, Fishing, Camping Supplies_. But then Dad was gone, and Sam went off to Stanford, and the store went under pretty fast after that. Dean didn't have much to stick around for by that point.

But Dean's not dwelling on that shit anymore; he's spent far too long holding onto grudges. He's just happy to have his little brother back in his life again. So, when Dean sits down at their computer in the living room to check his email, he should be thrilled when he opens this:

> **Subject: Surprise!**  
>  Hey Dean! Remember I was telling you last week we've got spring break coming up soon? Well… we've booked a flight out! We'll get there Sunday and can stay through Friday. I'll send you all the details and flight info, don't worry. You said you were off rotation that week and you have a spare room, right?
> 
> Jess is really excited to meet you, and I know you'll love her. Also, I'll probably call you tonight, so we can talk about it then. Srsly, man, can't wait to see you :)
> 
> Sam

Stunned, Dean reads it over a few times. Then a couple more.

"My brother's coming to visit," he says aloud, half in disbelief. He's excited, of course he is; he hasn't seen Sammy in way too long and, even though he never lets himself think about it, he misses that stupid kid like an amputee misses his lost limb.

There's just one thing, in all their catching up on their lives now, that Dean's failed to mention to his little brother.

"What's that?" Cas comes up behind him, leans over Dean's shoulder to place his green mug on the desk, and brushes his lips over Dean's cheek.

"Um." He exhales, still staring at the computer screen.

"Oh," Cas says, and Dean turns just enough so he can see whatever facial expression accompanies that. "This is… good?" Cas asks, meeting his eye.

"Yeah. Course." Dean nods jerkily. He wraps both hands around his mug and inhales the strong scent — Cas makes damn good coffee. He takes a big gulp, burning his lips and tongue and throat in the process and not caring.

(Dean probably should have seen this coming, what with all the questions about his work schedule, and his house, and his town, and Sammy mentioning his spring break every chance he got. The _'Oh! You're off that week, too, huh?'_ should've been a big tipoff anyway. Dean was just rollin' with it, happy to be talking to Sam at all.)

"It's just that, uh…" Dean stretches up to kiss Cas properly on the mouth, before whispering, "He doesn't know."

* * *

_Reconnecting_ , as Sam has insisted on calling it, with the brother you haven't seen or spoken to in almost four years is somewhat of a…

It's awkward as fuck, is what it is.

Not that fucking is ever awkward for Dean. He's got fucking _mad skills_. But his brother is definitely not involved in that part of his life. Which is basically the crux of his current problem. Over the past month or so of phone calls and emails, with the occasional IM or text, there was never really a time when Dean felt comfortable enough to bring it up. It's really just not something you do over the phone or in a fucking email.

'Hey, Sammy, it's great finally talking to you again after the big freeze-out. Oh, by the way, I'm kinda gay now.'


Yeah. Not so much.

* * *

Dean paces across their kitchen floor, worrying at the cracked linoleum with his bare toes. They already ate breakfast this morning, but he opens the fridge to peer inside anyway. If he stuffs some food in his mouth, maybe he won't have to talk about this right now.

"There are some of those little mini muffins in the cupboard," Cas says, sitting calmly at the table with the newspaper spread out before him.

"I was working up to it," Dean blurts, shutting the fridge door and turning to face Cas. "I just—there wasn't—"

"I know, Dean. I know how hard it is." Cas looks up at him, peaceful, happy, understanding smile on his face. Of course Cas understands; he's already been through this shit. Dean wants to go over there and pull Cas into his arms, but he doesn't feel like he can just yet.

"So…" he starts, unsure how to follow that, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest.

"So." Cas folds the paper and lays it aside. "We could…" He licks his lips, eyes darting to the side briefly before resettling on Dean. "We could always wait. To tell him. It doesn't have to be now."

"Uh..." Dean raises his eyebrows. "And how are we gonna pull that off? He's coming this weekend. I can't just tell him to cancel his trip. And I…" He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "I wanna see him."

"No, no. Of course you should see him." Cas folds his hands in front of him on the table. "I don't mean that he shouldn't visit now."

"Then what? Baby, he's gonna notice the extra guy hanging around the house," Dean says, waving expansively, "and all the crazy shit you've got in here that does not possibly belong to me."

Cas laughs quietly through his nose, lips curving up into one of his tiny not-quite-there smiles. Dean always wants to kiss him when he does that.

"I could go visit my sister," Cas says after a moment. "While they're here. The hospital will give me time off. And you can explain my belongings by saying… you have a-a roommate. One who's rarely around, anyway. Or something."

"A roommate," Dean echoes. "I tell Sam that you're my weird drifter roommate who drops his shit here and then takes off?"

"It's… somewhat plausible."

"And you'd do that?" Dean asks softly.

Something flitters across Cas's features, only for a split-second, and he says, "Yes."

Breathing deeply, steadying, through his nose, Dean says quietly, "You would, wouldn't you? You'd just…" He pushes himself away from the sink and strides the few feet to the table, cups Cas's face in both hands and leans in close. "You'd just let me do that, and you'd be okay with it." He presses their lips together, kisses Cas firmly until he opens up, then pulls away. "No."

"W-what?"

Dean hooks his foot around the leg of the other kitchen chair, tugging it over to sit down, never taking his eyes, or his hands, off Cas. "I'm not gonna lie about who you are. And I'm definitely not lying to Sam."

The smile he gets this time is broader and more rare than all the bootleg albums Dean's collected over the years. Cas kisses him hard, running his fingers through Dean's hair. "We'll figure it out," he murmurs against Dean's mouth, kisses him again, then stands and stretches. "You'd better get ready for work."

"Yeah." Dean nods, watching Cas's backside as he exits the room. Cas is off today, but Dean's got a twelve hour shift — hopefully they won't get many calls and Dean can use his time to study. (Dean likes being an EMT, and he's only just at intermediate level, but Cas keeps telling him he can go further if he wants. He's damn well gonna try.) Means he won't be home until after ten, though. Good thing Sammy's three hours behind. "He's supposed to call tonight with the details. I'll handle it then." He shrugs. _No big._

* * *

After he hangs up with Sam that evening, Dean flops back onto the couch, draping an arm over his face.

"All handled?" Cas asks, passing by the doorway.

"Shaddup."

* * *

Lying in bed that night Dean tries to sleep, he really does, but his eyes just won't stay closed. The light from the alarm clock on Cas's bedside table washes the room in an eerie green glow. Dean hates that damn clock, but Cas insists he needs it (Dean's body clock has always been sufficient in getting him up on time). And the fucking next door neighbors keep going in and out of their back door, letting it bang shut every five fucking minutes. They always leave their porch light on all night, too. (Dean loves this house — _their_ house — and they got an awesome deal on it, what with the housing market in the shitter last year, but _goddamn_ he hates having neighbors. Beats crappy apartment living, though, like the ones he and Sam grew up in.) Cas can sleep anywhere, anytime, through any ruckus, a skill Dean supposes he developed while he was still an army doc (runs himself ragged when he's on call, though, and just passes out as soon as he stops moving). Dean's always been a light sleeper.

"You're still awake." Cas's voice is rougher than normal, thick and sleepy.

"Damn right I'm still awake," Dean rasps back at him. "What the hell do those people do at two o'clock in the fucking morning?" He goes still and runs his words back through his mind. "Oh my god. When did I get old?"

Cas makes a snuffling laugh, and rolls over to face him. "If _you're_ old, what does that make me?"

"Really old." Dean snakes his arm underneath Cas to draw him closer, the weight of him warm all down Dean's side. "Dude, we are old; we went to bed without even thinking about sex first."

"Maybe _you_ weren't thinking about it…" Cas teases, little smirk twisting his lips.

"Oh yeah?" Dean raises one eyebrow at him.

"I'm game now if you are." Cas shifts close enough that Dean can feel his breath on his face — still fairly minty fresh. Dean slides his fingers along Cas's jaw and through his hair to the back of his neck, pulls him down until their mouths meet. He runs his hands all over Cas's back and sides, reveling in the heat emanating from their joined bodies, but finds himself slowing down and eventually breaking the kiss.

Cas kisses his cheek, jaw, neck, then settles his head on Dean's shoulder. "You're distracted."

"Yeah." _No_. He's fucking frustrated. And—

"You're always so cute when you're freaking out about something."

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

"I think you're over-thinking this." Cas splays his hand on Dean's chest, palm down right over his heart. "From what I know of your brother… He sounds like a good man, Dean."

"He is." Covering Cas's hand with his own, Dean sighs. "He was always a good kid. But like… that's how I think of him still. A kid. It's been four years, Cas. We don't even know each other anymore." He traces over the back of Cas's hand, down the fine bones and tendons of each finger. Elegant, beautiful _surgeon's_ hands. These capable hands that had picked Dean up and put him back together when he'd needed it (figuratively speaking). "He's told me all about her."

Cas flexes his fingers, aligning them with Dean's and weaving their hands together. "Hm?"

"Jess. His girlfriend. Sam mentioned her, like, right off. Well, you know, after that initial really fucking weird phone call. But after that, yeah, he's talked about her a lot. I think it's serious." Dean rubs the smooth skin between Cas's fingers. "Like, ring-shopping kind of serious."

He feels Cas nod, stubble _scritching_ against his skin. "And," Cas prompts.

"And I haven’t mentioned you once." The words tumble out. "And he's asked, been asking, and it's not—I didn't lie to him or anything, just, y'know, avoided the topic and let him draw his own conclusions." He huffs a short, mirthless laugh. "I know exactly what he's been thinkin', too."

"Oh?"

"You didn't know me back then, Cas. You don't know the kind of jackass I was."

Cas hums, thoughtful. "I imagine not very different from the kind of jackass you were two and a half years ago."

Dean smiles. "Yeah. I guess." He squeeze's Cas's fingers, drags his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "I just don't want him to stop talking to me again."

After a very long pause (And _shit_ , why did Dean have to go there?) Cas says, "I don't think that's going to happen."

"I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm sorry." He presses his lips to Cas's knuckles again.

"I don't need you to apologize." Cas props himself up, using Dean's chest as leverage, to look him in the eyes. "From what you've told me, Sam is nothing like my brothers. He went through a lot of trouble to get in contact with you. That must mean something."

Nodding, Dean sighs. "Yeah. It's not—I don't think Sam'll actually care. I mean, not that he doesn't _care_ ; Sam's all about the sharing and caring 'til you puke, but—" He clutches Cas's hand a little tighter. "I know he's not gonna disown me or anything. Not for this. I just feel like I should've told him already. Or he should just _know_ , you know? Without having to, like, make a _thing_ out of it. If he'd bothered to call sooner, or hell, returned any of my phone calls two years ago, he would know al—"

Cas muffles Dean's words with his mouth. And tongue. When Cas pulls back to stare down at him, Dean says, "I'm not still mad about that."

"Uh-huh. Sleep now." Cas presses his mouth to Dean's once more, quickly, then rolls over to his side of the bed again.

"Right, sleep," Dean mutters. Outside, the neighbors' door bangs again. _Who can sleep with that racket going on?_

He's not mad at Sam. Really. He has no right to be angry, not when it was his own fault.

Finally, the light outside goes dark. Dean turns on his side, slides his arm around Cas and pulls him against his chest. "Oh, hey, baby." He shakes Cas lightly, until he gets a grunt in response. "We gotta clean out the junk room."

Cas groans and shoves his face into his pillow.

* * *

"Fucking shit!" Dean ducks another avalanche, letting that particular pile of boxes clatter to the floor. He continues digging through the top shelf of the closet. "I know that air mattress is in here somewhere."

"And your brother is expecting a… guest bedroom?" Cas asks from somewhere behind him, pushing more boxes around.

"Spare! I said spare." Dean pops his head around the closet door to glare at Cas. "And I only mentioned it, like, once. It's not my fault the kid's got a mind like a steel trap."

So, maybe he'd been bragging, just a little, to impress his brother. It's completely understandable. When he'd told Sam that, yes, he was an honest-to-god homeowner, the kid had totally flipped his shit. Yeah, it's just a modest, single-storey, two bedroom house, with an unfinished basement and what passes for an attic. But they're in a good neighborhood (next door excluded) and it's close enough to the hospital that Cas can ride his bike from spring until late fall (Dean honestly despairs of a grown-ass man who won't drive. But what's he gonna do?).

If he'd talked it up a little, could you blame him? He's competing with the fucking Ivy League here (or not… Dean was never really sure what that meant). College boy's got his fancy school, and scholarships, and off-campus apartment, and beautiful girlfriend, and rich friends (probably), and bright shiny future. And what's Dean got?

Besides an awesome partner that he hasn't been able to tell Sammy about yet.

"Why haven't we unpacked this stuff?" Cas asks. Dean turns to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by open boxes, with a pile of crap in his hands.

"Dude."

"Remember this?" Cas holds up a photograph for Dean to see. It's of the two of them in jeans and t-shirts, standing in front of the walk-thru safari park.

"Oh gross. Don't remind me. That giraffe _licked my face_." Dean steps over a stack of books to take the photo for a closer look. That had been a pretty good day (face-licking aside) for the most part. "I remember you cried."

Cas shrugs. "I told you I didn't like zoos."

"It wasn't a zoo! The animals get to roam free."

"It's still a zoo, animals plucked from their natural homes for our amusement. We don't have giraffes in North America for a reason."

"You and Sam are gonna get along great," Dean mutters. He so does not want to get into _this_ conversation again. "Baby, we're supposed to be clearing space here, not reminiscing."

"Still," Cas says, pretty much ignoring him, "I like these pictures. We should get some frames and put them up. Why haven't we sorted through these boxes in the last year?"

"Because we shoved all this junk in here and forgot about it." Frankly, after the essentials were done, they'd gotten bored with the whole 'unpacking' part of moving in and went right to having sex everywhere. Dean goes back to digging through the closet. "We didn't throw that air mattress out, did we? Sammy's gotta sleep on something. Jess might fit on the couch, but Sam sure as hell won't."

"It's in there, Dean, buried under all your stuff."

" _My_ stuff? This is not all mine, man. I owned, like, three things when I met you." (Possibly a bit more, but they both know that's not too big an exaggeration. Dean was practically living in his car when they first met, and the shoebox apartment he'd finally secured hadn't held much and still looked empty.)

There's a mini-landslide at Dean's feet as several tectonic stacks shift. "Hey, I think I found it!" He tugs at the maroon plastic of the folded air mattress; something else follows and thuds onto his foot. "Ow! And the pump, too."

"It probably needs new batteries," Cas says. He's busy restacking the boxes and shoving them into the far corner of the room. The 'junk room' as it is now known was originally supposed to be an office or workroom. But the computer desk never quite made it past the living room, so they'd just set it all up between the front window and the entryway (Dean absolutely refuses to use the word _'foyer'_ ). They pretty much spend all their time in there anyway, and Dean likes watching TV when he's checking his email (it's less conducive to studying, but that's what taskmaster Cas is for).

Dean rolls the mattress out over the cleared space on the carpet, kneeling down beside it. He tests the pump and _hallelujah_ it works, but when he tries to fix it to the nozzle on the mattress he can't get it to stay. Cas takes it out of his hands before he can get too frustrated and throw it across the room (that's happened, like, once) and manages to get it set up in about two seconds.

Watching the mattress slowly fill with air is strangely mesmerizing. It takes kind of a while, and Dean's glad for the break; he's sweating through his gray t-shirt, cotton darkening and clinging to his skin. Cas goes back to leafing through an open box, occasionally plucking out a photo that he wants to do god knows what with. The only sounds in the room are the soft hissing of the air pump, quiet _fft fft_ of paper shuffling, Cas's breathing, and Dean's blood thrumming in his ears.

The pump clicks off when the mattress is full; Dean removes it and plugs the hole up, pressing down with his hand a few times to test the firmness. "I hope this thing doesn't pop when Bigfoot's sleeping on it."

Cas is suddenly very close, hot breath on his neck. "I seem to recall it's very sturdy."

Dean smirks at that. They'd had to sleep on this stupid thing for two weeks before they bought a bed; it worked well enough for them. Kinda bouncy, too. He hooks an arm around Cas's waist and pulls him down so they're both lying crosswise on the mattress, feet hanging off onto the floor.

Cas crawls on top of him, mouth covering Dean's, hands peeling his shirt up slowly. The cool air chills his damp skin. Cas swipes his tongue down Dean's neck and chest to one perky nipple, and now Dean's not shivering because of the cold. He hauls Cas's shirt over his head, flinging it across the room. From there it's just a matter of kicking their jeans off, and falling into each other. It's never been like this — easy, comfortable — with anyone else before; Dean can't imagine it with anyone else ever again. Not like this. No one else ever actually _sees_ him.

Dean tangles his fingers into Cas's hair, keeping him close, mouth hot on his through it all until they're both sweaty and panting. He licks his palm and takes them both in hand, smearing pre-come everywhere. The rubbery plastic squeaks against Dean's bare ass. Cas snorts laughter into Dean's shoulder, hot breath rushing over his skin, but he keeps rocking his hips against Dean's body, scooting the mattress inch by inch across the carpet (it's still pretty bouncy). Dean comes first, all over his own stomach. Cas keeps at it, wrapping his own hand around himself, and follows closely after (all over Dean's stomach). Settling next to him, their sweaty skin sliding and sticking together, Cas lays his arm heavy across Dean's chest.

When he's got his breath back, Dean says, "I think it'll definitely hold him."

Breathing out through his nose, eyes closed, Cas mumbles, "We should probably hose it off first."

Laughing, Dean buries his nose in Cas's hair and doesn't want to move again for the rest of the day.

* * *

The airport is almost an hour away, so Dean figures he'll have ample time and opportunity to explain things to Sam on the drive back to the house. Piece of cake.

Dean waits in the cell lot until he gets a text from Sam: `@ baggage. C u in a few` ☺

And seriously, the dork punctuates his sentences with smiley faces. Dean pulls his car up to arrivals, hops out and goes around to the trunk to wait. The wind's blowing and he wishes he'd worn his gloves, the soft leather ones Cas had bought him last Christmas. Good thing Sam is really easy to spot in a crowd. Dean sees him almost immediately, more than a head taller than everyone else, and _jesus_ the kid hasn't had a haircut since the last time they saw each other.

He whistles loudly to get Sam's attention, waving one arm over his head. He's not sure exactly what he's expecting when Sam finally turns and sees him, but the dopey grin on Sammy's face reminds him of everything he's been missing. Sam drops his bags as soon as he reaches the car, grasps Dean's shoulder and pulls him into a tight, overwhelming hug. Sam is warm, his arms wound completely around Dean, his hair tickling Dean's nose until he huffs it out of his face, closing his own arms around Sam's back. Sam had shot past him in height before the little squirt had even finished high school, but _damn_ when did he get so broad in the shoulders? Dean remembers the last time he'd hugged Sam — the kid was a toothpick back then.

It lasts way longer than Dean would normally allow, but he's almost reluctant when he pushes Sam away. "Alright. You tryin' to suffocate me?"

Sam laughs, then reaches out and runs his hand down the roof of the Impala. "You kept it."

"Of course I kept her!" Dean says, indignant. Dad had given her to him when he'd turned twenty-one. He wouldn't have left his baby behind. He almost says this, but stops himself when he spots a woman with long, curly, blonde hair just behind Sam.

"This is Jess," Sam says, grasping her hand to draw her forward until they're standing shoulder to shoulder. She's tall, too, almost as tall as Dean (he thinks she might be about even with Cas, actually). "Jess, this is my big brother Dean." The way Sam says it, all earnest smiles and big eyes, like an excited puppy, makes something twinge in Dean's chest.

"Sam's told me all about you," Jess says, shaking Dean's hand with a firm grip.

"Oh I bet he has."

Dean tries his best not to flirt with Jess, but it's like a reflex, a nervous tic, and it just comes out. She laughs good-naturedly, and teases him right back. Dean likes her instantly; she's definitely a keeper. Sam just rolls his eyes, saying, "God, Dean, you haven't changed at all."

He stills, smile freezing on his face. It's the perfect opening, right there, he couldn't have set that up if he'd tried… and yet Dean's completely lost for words. He clears his throat. "Yeah. Here, let me get those." He loads their bags in the trunk, closes and locks it, then gestures for them to get in. "Doors are open."

There's some sort of clumsy 'you go, no you go' on the other side of the car, then Sam slides into the passenger seat next to him and Jess gets in the back. Nobody talks until they're out on the freeway heading back to the house, and Dean decides to break the silence.

"So, Jess, I hope you're not a light sleeper. Our neighbors are kind of dicks, up all night long making noise and shit." He said 'our'. _Perfect time to bring it up?_ But neither Jess nor Sam seem to notice that.

She just shrugs. "I'm sure I'll be fine. And you probably know that Sam sleeps like the dead."

"Yeah," Dean laughs. "Does he still snore?"

"I never snore!"

"Yes, he does." Jess catches Dean's eye in the rearview mirror, and winks at him.

Next to him Sam pouts, folding his arms across his chest, then tries to change the subject. "We looked up all kinds of things to do around here—"

"Sammy, we're in the middle of nowhere. I told you there was nothing to do around here."

"Though we weren't expecting it to be so cold," Sam continues. 

"It's still pretty much winter up here, man." Dean glances to the back. "Jess, you're letting him waste your whole spring break in rural Pennsylvania. You guys should've gone to Cancun."

"Oh, we did that sophomore year, actually," Jess says, leaning forward over the seat. "Sam got so sick and spent almost the whole time in the hotel room, throwing up."

The grin starts to slip from Dean's face. He grips the steering wheel tight, eyes straight ahead, forcing a laugh. "That sounds like Sammy. He got sick on practically every vacation we ever took."

"Like we really took all that many," Sam says, blithely. He's turned in his seat, smiling at Jess.

"So," Dean says, watching Sam out of the corners of his eyes, "that would've been… about two years ago, huh?"

He sees Sam freeze. Jess doesn't seem to notice; she answers, "Yep. It was our first trip. You know, together."

"I, um…" Sam falters.

"Jess, I hope your taste in music is better than Sam's." Dean doesn't wait for a response, just punches the tape into the deck and turns up the volume. _Communication Breakdown_ blasts out of the speakers. It seems fitting.

* * *

As soon as Dean pulls into the driveway, he hops out of the car, tosses the keys at Sam, and runs up the walk to the house. He finds Cas in the kitchen where he left him, poring over his medical journals. Cas looks up when he comes barging in.

"Yeah, I didn't do it yet."

Cas doesn't say anything for a moment, and Dean can't read the look on his face (he hates when he can't read Cas — after their first six months or so together he got pretty good at it). Finally, Cas stacks his journals up, and says, "Shall I sneak out the back then?"

And Dean knows he's joking, and not actually angry or disappointed. He closes his eyes, exhales — relief and regret combined. "Quit bein' a smartass." He hears the kitchen chair scrape back and feels Cas come to stand at his side, warmth of his body making Dean feel the cold he brought in with him more sharply. "How did you do this?"

"Unwillingly." Cas leans into him, hand rubbing circles in the small of Dean's back. "That choice was taken out of my hands."

"Oh yeah." Dean'd like some time alone with the dickbag that had outed Cas to his uncle. And his commanding officer. Don't ask, don't tell, his _ass_. That happened more than five years ago, though, before they'd met. "If I ever come face to face with that guy—"

"You'll do absolutely nothing." Cas glances around. "Did you just run in here and leave them to carry their own bags?"

"Sam's capable of bringing in his own shit. Swear the kid hasn't stopped growing yet. He's like a… one o' those, whaddo ya call'ems? That big blue thing with the lumberjack."

Cas stares at him, head tipped to one side. "Paul Bunyan's ox?"

"Yes." Dean snaps his fingers. "He's a freakin' ox."

"Babe."

Confused, Dean asks, "Yeeah?" because Cas never calls him that. Never calls him anything other than Dean (and sometimes _oh god yes_ ).

"No, that was the name of the ox." Cas smiles. "I think I hear them at the door."

"Dean!" Sam bellows from outside, and Dean hurries back through to let them in. Jess enters first, laughing at whatever she and Sam might've been talking about, carrying a medium-sized suitcase.

Sam stumbles in with two bags slung over his right shoulder and another dangling from his left hand. "Jesus, Dean. What, did you have to run in and do some last minute cleaning or something? I locked up your car for you, by the way. You're welcome." He drops the bags to the floor, panting, and finally looks up. "Oh. Um, hi?" he says, eyes flicking from Dean to Cas standing just behind him.

"Uh. Right. Sam, Jess," Dean gestures to each of them in turn, "this is Cas. Uh, Dr. Castiel Miles." Dean's not even sure why he goes with the full blown title. "He's… um, he lives here, too. All the weird paintings and statues and, like, that crazy tapestry thing from Africa or whatever, those are all his."

"It's from Afghanistan, actually," Cas says, coming forward and extending his hand. "It's nice to meet you both." Jess smiles brightly and gives him the same firm handshake she gave Dean.

Sam hesitates, just for a moment, but then smiles politely and offers his hand, as well. "Yeah, same here." He cuts his eyes at Dean, though. "Uhh…"

"Jess. That's short for Jessica, isn't it?" Cas asks, and she nods. He bends down and hefts two of the larger bags up. "Why don't you follow me, and I'll show you where your room is." Jess exchanges a look with Sam before carrying her own bag down the hall after Cas.

Dean watches them go, not quite ready to turn and face Sam.

"Uh, Dean? What the hell? Why didn't you tell me you had a roommate?"

"I…"

"What? Did he, like, just move in or something? Wait, I thought your house only had two bedrooms."

"Yeah, it—"

"Dude! You told me you had a guest room!"

"I said spare," Dean mutters.

"Is that his room?" Sam flails, pointing down the hall as though Dean doesn't know who he's talking about. "Look, we don't have to stay here if you don't have the space. It's okay, really. I checked out the area before we left home… you know, just in case. I know there aren't any hotels or anything nearby, but there's a bed and breakfast and an inn just in town, right? We can go—"

"You looked up nearby hotels? 'Just in case'?" Dean asks, and he barely stops himself from doing that annoying finger quote thing that Cas does. "So, you weren't actually planning to stay here?"

"What?" Sam actually takes a step back. "No. I mean, yes, we were planning to stay here. I just… in case it got too, um, uncomfortable or…" His shoulders slump. "I don't know, Dean. I wasn't even sure if you'd want us here."

"The hell are you talking about? Of course I want you to stay here. I asked you, didn't I?"

"You didn't, technically," Sam mumbles, but Dean blusters over him.

"I cleaned up and bought new sheets and made up a bed in the room for you!"

Exasperated, Sam throws his hands up (just like he did when he was a kid) and yells, "Dean, we're not kicking that guy out of his room! We can just—"

"He's my boyfriend!" Dean honestly hadn't meant to shout it quite that loud. The stunned look on Sammy's face would be hilarious if Dean's own wasn't burning.

"I—" Sam gapes at him. "What?"

Dean rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and lets his breath out slowly. "Boyfriend. Cas is my boyfriend. We sleep in the same room, so you're not kicking anyone out of anywhere, okay?"

Sam is staring at him when he makes eye contact again. Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fights the urge to turn away or rub his eyes. Sam moves first, past Dean and into the living room. He walks a slow circle, looking around at all their stuff — the computer desk all cluttered with papers; Cas's old blue couch; Dean's brown leather armchair; end tables he'd picked up off the curb and refinished himself; stacked up milk crates holding Dean's record collection ( _"Because you can't just lay them flat, Cas!"_ ); bookcases they'd bought filled with both their books, a few scattered framed pictures, and knick-knacks Cas has collected on his travels.

Sam turns back to him, eyebrows high on his forehead. "When did you go horseback riding?"

Dean blinks, opens his mouth, pauses. "What?"

"This picture." Sam points toward the taller bookshelf. "You're on a horse."

"Oh." He steps up next to Sam to take a closer look, even though he knows exactly which picture he's talking about. It's a shot of him from below, tall in the saddle and squinting into the sun. "That was last summer. One of the docs Cas works with owns a stable a little ways south of here. We went out and stayed for a week, got some free lessons. I like the horses, but it's not really..." he trails off, remembering how much his legs had _ached_ that week.

"Huh. You always did have a thing for cowboys," Sam remarks, and Dean can _hear_ him smirking, moves to punch him in the arm, but Sam sidesteps him. He pushes his stupidly long hair back behind his ear, biting his lip. "So... how long?"

And that's what he's been waiting for. Scratching at the back of his neck, Dean says, "Like, uh, two—two and a half years. Ish. I don't know exactly. I'd say ask Cas, but neither of us is good at keeping track of that stuff." He licks his lips. "We bought this place about a year ago. May third, we moved in. That one I remember." Dean half-smiles at that.

Sam smiles back; he knows why Dean might remember that. "Wow," is all he says. He starts to open his mouth again, but Jess and Cas appear in the doorway just then.

Cas glances between them. "We didn't prepare anything for dinner because we weren't sure what you'd like to eat." He comes into the room to stand next to Dean, close but not touching. "Between us, we can offer a plethora of pasta dishes, or some type of charred cow. Occasionally we even combine the two, with varying results. There might also be a vegetable lurking in the kitchen. Canned, most likely." It's always funny to Dean when Cas says shit like this — people usually think he's joking with them, but really he's just being Cas.

Looking a little lost, Sam stumbles over his words. "Ah, any-anything's fine, really."

"Anything. Really," Dean says, skeptically. "So, burgers are good with you?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'll eat a burger. Just because I don't eat red meat for every meal—"

"Sam," Jess interrupts, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door. "Why don't we go freshen up first. Then we'll come help with dinner?" She directs that to Cas.

He nods, and says to Sam, "Your room is the first door on the left. The bathroom is the door next to it, and our room is at the very end of the hall. Best not to go in there; we spent zero time cleaning it up."

Jess laughs and Sam chuckles, letting her pull him away. As soon as they're gone, Dean says, "Guessing you guys heard all that?"

"Winchesters are not quiet." Cas touches the back of his hand. "Nice to learn that it runs in the family."

* * *

They have a small kitchen table with only two chairs, so everyone eats dinner in the living room, balancing plates on laps. Sam and Jess sit on the couch, Cas in the armchair, and Dean in the desk chair turned away from the computer. Conversation's stilted at first, so Dean tries to lighten it up by telling funny stories of the weirdest calls he's ever been on.

"No joke, it was the cat that dialed 9-1-1. Saved that woman's life."

Sam's shaking his head, laughing. "You're just making stuff up now."

"What?" Dean raises his hands, mock offended. "Okay, maybe EMS was on, like, one of those big speed dial buttons. It was still the cat that pushed it."

"I can't believe you're a paramedic, Dean. I mean, if I think about it, that's like the perfect gig for you." The way Sam's looking at him just then, Dean almost feels a little proud.

"I'm not a paramedic yet. Still got—" Dean rubs a hand over his face (he's not blushing). "Lotta shit left to do for that."

"He's been working very hard, and finishing in record time," Cas adds, smiling fondly at him. Dean can't stop himself from returning it (hopefully Sam doesn't notice how soft he's gone).

"So, is that how you two met?" Jess asks. "Working at the hospital?"

"Uhh…" Dean exchanges a look with Cas. "Sort of."

"It's rather a long story," Cas says.

"Cas is the one that got me started, actually. I mean, I'd kinda looked into it, but I didn't think I—um, but he kept bugging me about it, so…" Dean looks down at his hands. He can sense Sam sitting there, searching for something to say. Dean stands abruptly and starts gathering up everyone's empty plates. "Gonna go dump these in the sink."

He retreats into the kitchen (because that's exactly what this is) and stacks the plates next to the sink. From the other room he hears Sam ask, "Is that the Coliseum?" Cas's rumbling answer is lower, but Dean has long been able to decipher him by tone alone.

"You actually got Dean onto a plane?" Sam is saying as Dean walks back into the living room. He looks way too big for their small house, towering over Cas, both of them with their backs to Dean examining the photos on the shelves and the walls.

"I sedated him," Cas says. Sam and Jess laugh, but they don't realize that he's not really joking. That flight (both ways) was almost more than Dean could handle (he'd been so freaked out, he'd forgotten half the words to _Unforgiven_ ).

"Air Cas — only way to travel." They all turn at the sound of his voice. Dean leans in the doorway. "Baby, it's after nine o' clock."

Cas looks surprised, as he always does when he realizes he's lost track of time. "Ah." He smiles politely at Sam and Jess. "I apologize, but I have to work in the morning, so I'm off to sleep now."

As he comes near, Dean asks, "Gabriel picking you up? Remind him to be quiet when he gets here. Tell him we have guests."

"I'll text him now," Cas says. He stands close for a moment, maybe about to lean in for a quick kiss goodnight, but ends up running his hand gently down Dean's arm as he leaves the room. Dean watches him go, before turning back. 

Jess has her eyes closed, head resting on Sam's shoulder. She looks happy, content. Dean raises his chin when he catches Sam's eye — a question, maybe, he doesn't know. The silence stretches out.

"Actually, I'm pretty beat, too," Sam says, sitting up and nudging Jess. "I think we'll just…" He gestures with a small nod of his head toward the bedrooms, pulling Jess up from the couch with him. "Night, Dean," Sam says softly as he passes. Jess wishes him good night, as well, and they disappear into the spare room.

Dean switches off the living room lamp and stands there in the dark. It hurts that he's forgotten how to talk to Sam, how to just exist with Sam. Dean's spent only eight years of his life without Sam — the first four and the last four. That's not even one third of his lifetime. He doesn't even remember any part of those first four very well, but these last four seem like all there is of them.

* * *

Cas's alarm clock goes off at four. (Has Dean mentioned that he _hates_ that clock?) He watches Cas get ready in the dark, mumbles a goodbye when he leans over for a quick kiss. Gabriel doesn't honk or make excessive noise like he usually does, so he must've gotten Cas's text. Dean pulls the covers over his head and goes back to sleep.

He wakes again a little after eight. The door to the spare room is closed, so he guesses that Sam and Jess are still sleeping. He quietly makes his way to the kitchen and gets a pot of coffee going (Cas doesn't bother making any when he's the only one awake so early).

It's almost nine when Sam wanders into the kitchen, Jess just behind him wrapped up in a red flannel bathrobe. Dean nods to them from his place at the stove. He's making French toast, and he wonders if Sam remembers how much he used to beg for it when he was little. Dean pulls down two mugs (white, from the nice set Cas's sister bought them as a housewarming gift, that they never use) and sets them on the counter.

"Coffee's fresh, help yourselves," Dean says, turning back to the stove. "Jess, I hope this is okay for breakfast."

"It's great, Dean. Thank you." She smiles, filling her coffee cup.

They all three stand uneasily around the kitchen. Dean checks the last couple slices of toast with the spatula, and turns off the burner. "Go ahead and siddown," he says, scraping everything out of the frying pan onto a couple of plates and laying them on the table. "I already ate mine." He sets forks and the syrup in front of them, then starts rinsing out the dishes in the sink.

"You used to make this when we were kids," Sam says around a mouthful. Dean stops to look over at him. "When Dad was at the store, you'd make this for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner, sometimes." A little nervous laugh escapes Sam, he coughs and looks away. "So—"

"So," Dean interrupts, "uh, there's a seminar thingy today that I sorta have to attend, because I've still got, like, a billion classroom hours to get done." In truth, he does most of his coursework online. "But I can drop you guys off in town so you can do… um, all those things you had planned. Okay?"

"Wha—oh." Sam's eyes return to his breakfast. "Okay, sure." He shoves a forkful into his mouth, and Jess just watches him eat.

"Okey-dokey. We leave in a little bit, so eat up and get dressed." Dean hurries out of the kitchen.

* * *

He drops Sam and Jess at some fartsy bookstore in town where the college kids tend to hang out. He figures these are Sam's kind of people. Even though Dean's not that much older, they all seem way young to him. Hell, when he _was_ that age, those kids seemed too young to him.

He heads to the hospital next in hopes of catching Cas on some downtime. Unfortunately, it turns out he's actually got a surgery today to prepare for, and Dean really hates bothering him when he's working. He spends a little time letting the nurses tease him, though. They all know him as Dr. Miles's boyfriend, and a few he's run into while working. It's funny how they flirt with him more now than they did before he and Cas were, like, officially together.

The rest of the afternoon finds him holed up in an on-call room with his course packets. Around five he gets a text from Sam asking if his seminar is over, and Dean figures he's spent enough time being a wuss.

He picks them up at the froofy coffee place just down the block from the bookstore, crawling with scraggly-bearded guys, and girls wearing short skirts and those boots that look like polar bear feet. Dean doesn't even want to get out. He just pulls up to the curb and unlocks the doors.

"Did you, uh, see the sights, or whatever?" he asks when they climb into the car.

Sam glances at him, nodding strangely, mouth pulled tight. "Yeah. Sure. Got some books." He holds up a cloth bag on his lap, then turns away to the passenger window.

"It's a nice town, Dean," Jess says, leaning forward, her smile bright and a little too big. "Seems like a great place to live."

Grateful for the distraction, Dean says, "Yeah, we like it." As he's driving, he points out a few places to her. Sam doesn't move. "There's a bar just a few streets over that gets different imported beers every month, but most of their stuff is local — you know, from like the microbreweries — so we go there a lot. And they don't—uh, they're not…" Dean falters before plowing on, "They're welcoming. To everyone."

"Oh, well that's… um." Jess wavers between them, and Dean thinks he catches her glaring at Sam who's… just staring at Dean with this _look_ on his face.

"So, Cas won't be home 'til late," Dean says, eyes firmly on the road. "I was thinkin' we'd get some dinner and bring it back to the house. There's a Thai place just up here. Sound good?" He waits for a response from the passenger seat, anything.

Finally, Jess sits forward again and says, "That sounds great, Dean. I love Thai food."

Dean doesn't know why it was easier talking to Sam over the phone. Dean fucking hates talking on the phone. He's not a phone guy. He'd thought it would be easier seeing Sam face to face, able to gauge his reactions… But this is excruciating.

As soon as they get to the restaurant, Sam says he's going to walk around and that Jess knows what to order for him. When Dean starts to protest, Sam says, "I'm not going far. I'll just be… out here," and then he's off.

Inside, Dean sits with Jess while they wait for their food. He keeps checking out the window, but doesn't see Sam walk by.

"He was really nervous about this visit," Jess says suddenly. "I could see how excited he was, but also… I mean, he was more nervous than when he took his LSAT."

"He told me he did pretty good on that," Dean replies, dumbly.

"Better than good," she says. "He did really, _really_ well, amazing even. But Sam would never say that." She tucks her hair back out of her face, chewing her lip, and Dean thinks that this is one beautiful girl: _You lucky dog, Sammy._ "He didn't tell me about you, or his family, none of it, until more than a year after we met. And then it was like… he couldn’t _stop_ and he had all this—" she gesticulates wildly, "stuff. He felt so…" She bites her lip again, flicks her tongue over it. "It really means a lot to him that you wanted him—us—to stay here with you. I think that's why he went and planned it without, um, asking first. He was afraid you'd say no."

Dean has no idea how to respond to that, how to say that he'd never tell Sammy 'no'. How to ask why Sam would ever even think that.

Sam's leaning against the Impala waiting for them when they go back outside. The drive home is silent, save for the radio playing (softly for once) in the background. Dean marches into the house, letting Sam and Jess follow as they like (he can hear them whispering furiously to each other), and drops the food onto the kitchen table. He goes for a beer, but then thinks better of it and grabs an Orange Crush for each of them instead. Used to be Sammy's favorite (when he was about eight, anyway). Dean may or may not have gone out and bought this specifically for that reason.

They end up eating in the living room again, and watching a movie. Dean has no idea what it is; he'd just tossed the remote at Sam and told him to find something. It's well after dark when he hears the front door open. Dean practically leaps out of his seat, thanking deities he doesn't believe in. He catches Cas just as he's passing the doorway heading down the hall.

"Hey, baby. We brought home dinner. I got your favorite, it's in the fridge."

Cas blinks at him, barely glances at Sam and Jess. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed." He doesn't even bother to take his shoes or coat off before disappearing down the hall.

Sam and Jess are staring at him shocked, but Dean's used to Cas's blunt manner by now that he doesn't even think to apologize for his rudeness. He knows something's wrong, though. Catching sight of Gabriel just inside the door, he demands, "What the hell happened?"

"Mrs. Hackett," Gabriel says by way of explanation, shaking his head sadly.

"Dammit," Dean exhales, rubs his hand across his mouth. Cas was fond of her.

"So," Gabriel says, clapping his hands together and coming further into the house, "what are we having? Hey there." He winks over at Jess. Or Sam. Both, probably, who can tell? Dean stops him with a hand on his shoulder and steers him back to the door.

"See ya, Gabe."

"Aw, c'mon!" Gabriel cranes his neck to see past Dean as he's being pushed out the door.

"Goodnight," Dean says with finality.

Gabriel pauses on the doorstep, face going soft. "Hey, take care of him."

"Yeah." Dean nods, closing the door on him, and heads back through.

"Dean?" Sam's sitting forward on the couch, light from the muted television turning his skin blue and green. Jess is leaning into him, one hand on his knee. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. No." Dean shakes his head. "One of his patients carked it today."

Sam's face scrunches up at him. "Shouldn't you…" he trails off, motioning with his hands.

"Nah. He's already passed out by now."

"Dean—"

"I think I know him a little better than you do, Sam." Dean stalks past the couch and sinks back into his chair. "He'll be fine. He just sometimes forgets that he's not all-powerful and he can't fix everything." There's a long silence during which Dean stares resolutely at the TV screen.

"Wow," Sam huffs, dropping back against the couch cushions. "That sounds familiar."

"A surgeon with a God complex?" Dean arches an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, that's unheard of."

"That's not what I—" Sam clenches his jaw, muscle twitching in the dim light. "Yeah." Nobody bothers to turn the volume back up, just watching the images flash silently.

Jess yawns widely. "Gosh, I'm so tired. Think I'll hit the sack." She stands, kisses Sam on the forehead, wishes them both a good night over her shoulder and saunters out of the room. Sam's staring after her, arm still outstretched as if to pull her back.

"Um." Sam rubs his hands over his knees. "Do you want… uh, help? Cleaning up? Otherwise, I'll just…"

Dean waves him off. "I got it." He stares at the television screen as Sam lumbers out of the room, the soft shuffling of his feet sounds all the way down the hall until there's the click of a door closing. Dean has no idea what the fuck is going on in this movie.

* * *

Standing at the kitchen sink in the dark, Dean watches out the window. The neighbors on this side are always quiet, lights out by eleven. They haven't really gotten to know any of their neighbors, yet — Dean wonders if that's because of him, his reluctance to interact with people. He feels a change in the air and knows it's Cas about a half-second before he hears him. Cas doesn't turn on the light, just leans on the counter next to him, looking pointedly at the tumbler sitting between them.

"I just poured it," Dean says. "First glass."

"Okay."

Dean's head drops, chin almost to his chest, hands on the countertop bearing his weight. The dishes are all washed up and in the drainer by his elbow, living room is straightened, just like any normal night. He turns, reaching a hand out. "C'mere." Cas walks right into his arms, tucking his face into Dean's neck. "What're you doing up? It's almost midnight."

"You didn't come to bed." Cas never has trouble sleeping without him there. Never has trouble sleeping at all. Dean hugs him tighter. Cas doesn't _need_ Dean to take care of him. But he allows it (sometimes).

"You gotta be up in the morning?"

"No," Cas mumbles into his neck, lips brushing over his skin. "Gabriel's taking my patients and I'm taking the week off like I told you I would."

"Okay." Dean presses his lips to Cas's temple. He inhales deeply the scent of Cas's ruffled hair — it's that kind of gross _headsmell_ people get after wearing a hat too long, sweat and unwashed hair. "Wanna tell me wha—"

"No." _Of course not._

"You know it wasn't your—"

"Don't."

Rolling his eyes, Dean bites back the _'fine'_ on his tongue. "You hungry? Did you even eat anything all day?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Gabriel force-fed me this afternoon," Cas replies in that long-suffering voice of his. "I was also informed that you were hiding all day at the hospital."

"I wasn't—"

"Dean." Cas lifts his head away enough to look him in the eye.

"Fine. Whatever. You're the one who was all set to leave the country and hide out at your sister's."

"We both know that was an empty offer." Cas lays his head back down onto Dean's shoulder. "I'd have just gone to stay with Balthazar. To visit the horses, obviously," he adds quickly before Dean can get a word in. (Dean _tolerates_ Gabriel, but he really can't stand Balthazar — horses or no. Sometimes, Dean wishes Cas would get some new friends.)

"Too cold out to go play on the farm, Cas."

Cas's lips are warm on his neck, touching lightly, but he draws back again. "I believe it is time for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself, grow up, and talk to your brother." Cas stares him down and Dean has to look away first.

"I'm the one that told him to go," Dean whispers. "I wanted to try and save the store; Sammy just wanted out. So I said _fine, go_. And he did." He rests his forehead against Cas's, eyes closed. It wasn't like Dean had truly wanted to work in the store for the rest of his life. That was Dad's dream, not his. But it was all they had. "I'm not gonna get him back, am I? It'll never be like it was."

"No. Probably not." Cas kisses his mouth once, twice, again longer. "But that doesn't mean you'll have nothing."

Breathing him in, Dean runs his hands down Cas's back, warm through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "You miss your brothers?"

"Yes," Cas says, simply. "Getting second-hand news from Anna isn't the same." His sister Anna calls about once a month. They aren't close, and haven't been since they were kids, according to Cas. She lives abroad. But they still talk and visit every now and then.

"I don't know how to fix it," Dean admits, choking out the words.

"Well, avoidance certainly seems to have worked so far."

"Oh, shut up," Dean sighs, nudging Cas's nose with his own.

Cas presses their lips together and Dean lets himself get lost in it, open-mouthed, hot and wet. He slides one hand down to cup Cas's ass and bring him as close as possible, fitting their bodies together perfectly. His other hand starts to edge into the waistband of Cas's pants, but Cas stops him.

"You really want to do this in the kitchen with your brother in the house?"

"I can be quiet," Dean swears against his mouth.

"No, you can't."

A tiny creak of linoleum is their only warning before the overhead light flickers on.

"Oh! S-sorry." Sam is standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, wearing a rumpled gray t-shirt and pajama pants with cartoon penguins all over them. "I just, uh, I didn't know anyone was in here. Just wanted a glass of water. I'd have gotten it from the bathroom but…"

But there are no glasses in the bathroom. Cas starts to pull away, but Dean's hands are still on him, cupping his ass and around his waist.

"I'm going back to bed," Cas says, and kisses him lightly again before slipping away, taking the heat with him. He says, "Goodnight, Sam," as he leaves.

Dean straightens up, shifting himself. _There's nothing like trying to hide a boner from your baby brother._ They stand there stupidly, in silence, until Dean reaches for a glass out of the cupboard. "Here," he says, offering it to Sam. "Use the filtered pitcher in the fridge."

"Thanks." Sam takes the glass. Dean stares at his own tumbler of whiskey while Sam's busy pouring his water. "It's weird," Sam's voice breaks the stillness, "seeing you like this."

"You mean like…" Dean's eyes flick toward the doorway.

"No, that's not—" Sam starts, the pitcher still in his hand. "I mean, that was… unexpected, yeah. But no. Um, this whole—" He waves his other hand vaguely. "You. With a house. And a career. And a…" One side of his mouth curves up, and he looks twelve years old again. "I like him. Cas. We didn't get to talk much, but he seems… I like him."

Dean nods absently. Sam sort of droops, and opens the refrigerator to put the pitcher back.

"About three years ago," Dean says unexpectedly.

Slowly, Sam turns back to face him. "What?"

"That's when we met. Me and Cas."

"I—oh." And here he perks up, looking genuinely interested. "At, um, at the hospital?"

"Yeah." Dean nods. "We didn't get together right away. I didn't see him again until a few weeks later. He thought I was married." Dean laughs softly, snorts louder at Sam's face. "It's a long story."

"Not like I'm going anywhere," Sam offers, shoulders lifting the slightest bit. The hum of the old refrigerator grows louder and louder until it's the only sound in Dean's ears. Sam nods dully to himself, takes a sip of his water and sets it down onto the counter. "I came back, you know," he whispers.

"What?"

Licking his lips, Sam looks him right in the eye. "During the holiday break when first semester ended. I came home, but you weren't there. Home wasn't there. Nobody knew where you were; you were just _gone_." His voice hitches, elongating that last word.

Dean's eyes lose focus and each breath hurts. "I—after…" _After Dad was gone. After you left._ "Bank foreclosed on the store. Couldn't make the rent. I took off." He shrugs, helpless.

"I didn't know where you _were_ , Dean."

A spark, low and deep, ignites inside him, and Dean's glad he hasn't drunk that whiskey yet. "You didn't wanna know, Sam. You walked out and said you weren't coming back." _But he did come back._

"I was angry, Dean! You were acting just like Dad!"

"Keep your voice down," Dean hisses, "people are sleeping." Sam exhales loudly, nostrils flaring, and crosses his arms in a sulk. _God, he's exactly the same in so many ways._ "You think I wasn't happy for you, Sammy? Hell, I wanted you to go to college. I knew I never would, that that life… that was _it_ for me, but you…"

"Dean…"

"I did try, Sam. You ignored my calls."

Sam flinches. "I know. And that's on me." He steps closer, but stops. Their kitchen isn't that big, and it's a little too close. "I was just getting my life together. I met Jess, and we were making plans, and you were _drunk_ when you called me, and I didn't know what to say to you or how to… I don't know, even _listen_ to you anymore." He peters out, long exhale, whole body seeming to cave in on itself, hunching his shoulders trying to become small. "And those are just stupid excuses, I know, Dean, but—when I tried to call you back, your number was disconnected."

"I got a new one," Dean says, faintly. "I needed a local area code when I—"

"When you met Cas." There's an almost-smile there, more in Sam's voice than on his face.

Dean shakes his head. "When I decided to stay," he corrects. "I wasn't—I kinda just hung around here for a while, no plans or anything, figured I'd move on again eventually, but…"

"But you found a reason to stay?"

Shrugging, Dean grabs his tumbler off the counter and goes to sit at the table. "Once the store was gone, apartment, everything else… I sold what I could, got rid of anything that didn't fit in the car, and…" He raises his drink to the air, a semi-salute.

"And you… drove to Pennsylvania?"

"Drove all over for a while. Went west first, to the ocean." He'd skirted California, venturing only through the northernmost bit. "Then up through the mountains and back this way. Saw Mount Rushmore. Remember when you did that stupid school project on it? Turns out it's kinda boring…" He frowns. "Lotta goats." He sets his drink down, still hasn't had a sip, and tries not to direct Sam to the other chair. "I visited Bobby. You remember Bobby, right?"

"Of course I remember Uncle Bobby." Sam comes over to sit down anyway, folding himself carefully as though he's finally aware of himself and his size, his mind has caught up to his body. "He was at Dad's funeral. I send him a Christmas card every year, but—" Sam bites his lip hard. "Have you been in contact with him this whole time?"

"Every now and then," Dean says, then snorts. "I think he calls more to talk boring books with Cas than see how I'm doing, but he checks up."

"He knows Cas?" Sam asks softly, and Dean wonders just how he's never grown out of the kicked puppy look.

"They've never met face to face…" Dean twirls his tumbler slowly on the table. "But yeah, he knows. He seems okay with it."

There's a low scuff as Sam shifts his chair closer to the table. "Did you think I wouldn't be?"

"I dunno, Sammy." He drums his fingers on the table. "Yeah, I figured you wouldn't care…" He looks up questioningly.

Sam's almost twenty-two years old and still manages to look like a pissy thirteen year old girl. "Of course I don't care, Dean. I don't know why you didn't think you could tell me."

Covering his relief, Dean rolls his eyes and picks up his drink just to have something in his hands. "Wasn't something I really wanted to do over the phone. Don't really feel like it's something that needs to be _talked_ about."

"You don't think anything needs to be talked about." Sam removes the tumbler from Dean's hand and takes a sip himself, face scrunching up as he swallows.

"Hey!"

"You're not drinking it," Sam says, downing the rest. "Ggrrgh."

"Serves you right." Dean laughs, snatching his (now empty) glass back. He's sitting in his own kitchen having a drink with his little brother (sort of). Feels good.

"Cas was in the army?" Sam asks abruptly.

"Huh?" Dean follows his eyes to the picture tacked up on the bulletin board behind him, partially covered by other photos and cards. Cas is standing in front of a Jeep with two other soldiers, arms slung around each other's shoulders, all dressed in fatigues. Cas's hair is cropped short, but still sticking up all over the place. The other two — a blonde woman (Rachel, Dean thinks was her name) with sharp features, and a tall black guy with his hair shorn completely — they're both dead now. "Yeah. Way before we met. He was discharged about… I guess it's almost six years ago now."

"Was he injured?"

"No." Dean studies his little brother for a minute. "They kicked him out because he's gay, Sam."

"Oh." He's got that look on his face, like it just never occurred to him. It probably didn't. Nobody ever thinks about that, because it doesn't affect them directly.

"Best not to bring it up with him. He's not really sore about it anymore—" Dean pauses. "I don't think. It's just all tied up with his family bullshit. They stopped talking to him."

"His whole family?"

"Pretty much, 'cept for his sister. She's okay, kind of intense though. I met one of his dick brothers once. Seriously, I think he's better off." Sam goes quiet, kicked puppy look back on his face. Dean decides to take pity on him. "He grew up an army brat. Whole family's in service in some form or another. I don't think Cas ever thought he'd do anything else. Good thing he went into the medical field."

The hints of a smile soften Sam's face. "Wonder what Dad would've said — you dating a doctor. That's downright respectable, man."

Dean can't help but chuff a little laugh at that. "Dad would've objected to him being ex-Army, if anything."

"Hah, yeah. _'What, son, you couldn't find yourself a marine?!'_ " Sam's impersonation of their father is scarily accurate, but it makes them both laugh. If Dean's perfectly honest with himself, he has no clue what his father would've thought or said, but he likes to believe that Dad would just be happy for him.

Sam pushes his hair back behind his ear, grin stretching over his face, and it almost feels like being back home, like Dad could walk in the door any minute asking why the hell they're up so late.

The thought sobers Dean, even though he hasn't had a drink at all today. He and Sam have still got a long way to go before they're square.

"We should get some sleep," he says, grabbing the tumbler off the table and going to rinse it out in the sink. "Cas is taking the rest of the week off, so we can, you know, go do… stuff. Um, whatever else you had on your list, or something." He hears Sam behind him scooching his chair across the floor, and waits for an answer.

"Okay." Sam doesn't move, looks like he wants to say something else, shakes his head letting his hair fall back into his face. "Goodnight, Dean," he finally says before shuffling out of the kitchen.

"Night, Sammy."

* * *

Crawling into bed, Dean tries to be as quiet as possible, but Cas rolls into him and slides his arms around Dean's middle to nuzzle under his chin.

"Hey, guess what," Dean whispers into his ear.

"Mm?"

"I think I'm gonna get my brother back." He feels the curve of Castiel's lips against his neck.

"That's good."

* * *

The next morning Dean is woken by the enticing smell of bacon cooking. Cas, of course, is still face-down on his pillow, completely zonked. Dean pulls on a pair of pants and a t-shirt and wanders into the kitchen, almost afraid of what he might find. Sam… Sam was never allowed near the stove. Sam _sets things on fire_. Sure, he was eleven at the time, but still, this is a rule for a reason.

Thankfully, Jess is the one with frying pan and spatula in hand. Sam is at the table with a bowl and a whisk. Okay then, Dean can stop wondering where they put the fire extinguisher. "Morning," he says, pulling out the other kitchen chair and sitting down.

"We're making breakfast," Sam says with a big, cheerful smile.

"I can see that." Dean eyes him warily.

"Sam thought it would be alright," Jess says over her shoulder.

"It's fine, as long as you don't let him near my stove."

"Trust me," Jess answers through a laugh, "that's not happening."

"I'm not that bad," Sam protests, scowling.

"Sam." Jess points the spatula at him. "Do we need to be reminded of the pumpkin?"

He drops his eyes to the table. "No."

Dean looks back and forth between them, eyebrows raised. "Please tell me he blew up a pumpkin. And that you have pictures. Or video."

Shaking her head, Jess just smiles and says, "Bacon's done, time for the eggs."

"I hope scrambled's okay?" Sam asks, taking the bowl over to her and pouring it into the frying pan.

"You're not getting out of it that easy," Dean says. "Why were you cooking a pumpkin? _How_ do you cook a pumpkin?"

"Shouldn't you go wake Cas?" Sam deflects, and Dean decides to let it slide. For now.

"I'll let him sleep. He's not much for breakfast anyway."

"But you love breakfast," Sam says. "It's, like, your favorite food after burgers and pie."

Dean shrugs. "He rarely eats breakfast, unless I make him. So, if you guys wanna make breakfast for the rest of the week… be my guests." Dean's phone rings then, and he excuses himself to answer it in the living room.

 _"Winchester. Emergency call, as requested,"_ Victor says, sounding annoyed and amused all at once. _"So, do we still need you to come in and cover a shift?"_

"Uh…" Dean speaks as quietly as possible, checking that no one is listening. "Actually, man, I think I'm good. It's, um, it's turning out okay."

Victor snorts indelicately in Dean's ear. _"Well, look at you, steppin' up. Good."_

"Yeah, thanks." Victor had kind of hated him when Dean first started, but they slowly became almost friends. "No, really. Thanks, Vic."

_"Uh-huh. Hey, how's that boyfriend of yours? He okay after… uh, what happened?"_

Slouching down into his armchair, Dean thumbs over a worn spot in the leather. "He's not talking, as usual. How bad was it?"

_"Man, way I hear it, she was gone before they even got in there. This was, what? Old lady's fifth surgery? Don't let him beat himself up."_

"I know what to do, been through this with him before," Dean reminds him. (And the best thing to do, he's learned, is to let Cas be, let him work out his own frustration, and just be there when he needs to vent. They're a lot alike in a lot of ways.) He talks with Victor for a few more minutes, before heading back into the kitchen.

"Anything wrong?" Sam asks, laying plates out on the table.

"Nope. All good." Dean flashes him a grin, and takes his seat. For a second there, he thinks Sam maybe looks a little relieved or something.

Jess turns out to be a decent cook; she gets the bacon right (not too crispy, but not limp either) and the eggs light and fluffy just how Dean likes 'em. Cas meanders in after they've cleared the plates away and goes straight for the coffee. When he asks what they might be up to today, turns out Sam has a few ideas.

* * *

Somehow, someway, Sam manages to convince them to go to a rock museum. And, no, not the good kind of rock.

Sam and Cas start discussing different types of minerals, or whatever, and Dean ends up hanging back with Jess. He's got half an ear on Cas describing his extreme dislike of sand after spending months mostly covered in it (seriously, he won't even go to the beach — which doesn't bother Dean all that much as he's never given a fig about beach-type activities anyway) and Sam describing some type of geological survey back in California… or something. Dean just _knew_ that those two would get along and find all kinds of shit to geek out about together.

Beside him, Jess shakes her head at them fondly. "Nerds."

"Right?" Dean agrees. _Oh yeah, Sam better be keeping this one._ "They're, like, made for each other; I think we should be jealous."

"Mm." Jess nods, one eyebrow raised. "If it comes down to a fight for my man," she stage whispers to him, "between you and me, I think I can take him."

"I dunno." Dean half smirks at her. "He's pretty tough for a nerdy little dude. Trained in combat, too."

"Then I guess we'll just have to keep an eye on those two." She bumps his arm lightly with her shoulder. "Maybe you should give him a little reminder which Winchester is his."

"Ah—" Dean full-on smirks now. "But we weren't planning to do that with you guys in the house."

The loud, full-bodied laugh that gets from Jess draws the attention of everyone around them. Fortunately, the only other people in this boring ass place are Sam and Cas. Sam's brows are all furrowed, eyes narrowed, as though he suspects they are talking about him. Dean waggles his eyebrows. Cas just looks perplexed, but that's pretty normal for him.

They have dinner at home again that evening. Cas and Jess take over the kitchen to 'whip something up' as Jess puts it. Dean tries to protest, but she physically pushes him and Sam out the door and into the living room. "I'd like to hang out with Cas," she says with one final shove.

He and Sam end up on the couch, flipping back and forth between a hockey game and a basketball game — neither of which Dean gives two shits about, but they're back into awkward territory here.

"Dude, basketball is so boring. And I have no idea what teams are even playing," Sam says, and Dean flips back to the other. "Hockey is worse. Who can even see the puck?"

Sighing, Dean scrolls through the channels again, stops briefly on _The Ultimate Fighting Championships_ , but seriously that's too gay even for him, and finally lands on a _Mythbusters_ marathon.

"There's no way that actually works," Sam says, shaking his head at the TV.

Grinning, Dean tosses the remote aside and sits back. "Bet you ten bucks it does."

"You're on." Nobody can resist blowing shit up just for the hell of it. And science. Sam likes science.

Occasionally they hear laughter from the kitchen, and a little more clanking than Dean's used to, but the rest of the evening goes smoothly. Dean's even starting to relax and feel comfortable just chilling out with his brother again. The four of them stay up late playing cards and silly board games. _Trivial Pursuit_ gets a bit heated — nobody expects that Dean would retain so many useless facts — but everyone's in high spirits and their 'goodnight's are far more natural than they've been all week.

He and Cas sort of break their vow not to fool around while Sam and Jess are in the house, but they're really _not_ that loud. Sammy kind of gives him the stink-eye in the morning. Dean can't help but smirk at him, rubbing it in a little, even as he winces sitting down in the hard kitchen chair. Although, when Cas walks through the kitchen — completely unfazed — carrying all the bedding in his arms through to the laundry room, Dean's head thunks down onto the table, face burning and shoulders shaking with laughter.

* * *

They take Sam and Jess to the Roadhouse for dinner and drinks and general hanging out. It's probably their favorite place in the whole town, and they come here often enough to be well known by the staff.

"Well, if it ain't our favorite patrons," Ellen says, leaning on the bar to greet them. She owns the joint, and she'd given Dean his first steady job when he decided to stay in town. "Since when do you have friends, Winchester?" she asks, nodding over his shoulder.

"Hey, Ellen," Dean says, coming to lean against the bar. "This is my brother. Sam."

She knows only the bare bones of the story, but enough to have formed an opinion. It should be acknowledged that Ellen has _opinions_. Her only reaction is to look Sam up and down, extend her hand, smile and say, "Good to meet you." They shake, and Sammy shuffles nervously under her gaze, introduces Jess, and Ellen turns back to Dean. "You'll be wanting your usual booth then. Ash!" she yells out and tosses a rag at a man who seems to pop up from the other side of the bar. "Clear their table."

Sam leans over to speak directly into Dean's ear. "You have a table."

"Shut it." Dean shoves him away.

The Roadhouse is also their favorite place because this is where they'd met for the second time (where it really started) and, yeah, they have a booth. Sometimes Dean thinks it must've been fate or destiny or something that had kept him stuck in this town for those first few weeks. Then he tells himself that's bullshit and he was just really fucking lucky. Dean mentally rolls his eyes at himself — he's definitely going soft.

As they get to their table, he looks back for Cas who's still up at the bar talking with Ellen. When Dean slides into the booth, Sam's giving him this _look_ like he's some sort of small animal doing people things on Youtube. Dean chucks the drinks menu at his head.

A couple minutes later, Cas scoots in next to him. Dean lets his arm, resting along the back of the seat, fall down to Cas's shoulders. "No drinks? What took you so long?"

"I was inquiring after Joanna Beth. She's at the library with her study group, but should be here shortly." Cas says, leaning his weight more firmly against Dean's side. "And I thought we should let Jess and Sam peruse the menu on their own to see what they'd like."

Jo doesn’t show up for another hour or so; by that time they've all nearly finished their dinner and Dean's talked Sam into trying three of the local beers. She walks past their table with a curious look, but doesn't stop to chat, instead heading straight for the microphone at the other end of the bar. The lights, already low, dim even further, and a spotlight illuminates the previously vacant open space just past the tables and the bar.

"Aw, crap," Dean moans, setting his glass down. "Is it the third Wednesday of the month?"

"Yes it is, Deano!" Jo calls out across the room. Then into the mic, she says, "Welcome to Club Jo night here at the Roadhouse. Now get up here and get your dance on!"

The most god-awful noise fills the bar, bass thumping through the floor. Dean face plants into the table — he fucking _hates_ club night. He feels Cas's hand rubbing up and down his back in, what he guesses, is supposed to be a soothing motion. "Jo! You don't even like this crap," Dean yells over the music.

"No, but I like to dance," she replies, and suddenly she's shimmying next to their table. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"No." Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "I refuse to have a conversation while my _ears are bleeding_."

"I'm Sam," his brother says, reaching out to shake her hand.

She takes it, but darts a look at Dean. "Really? Wow. Okay. You gonna dance, Sam?" She tries to tug him out of the booth, but Sam's about eight times Jo's size and he's not moving. "What about you…?"

"Jess. And absolutely!" Jess takes Jo's hand and allows herself to be led out onto the dance floor.

But Jo reaches back once more. "Cas? You know you want to." She wiggles her fingers at him until he accepts.

"Traitor!" Dean calls after him as Cas melds into the overwhelming swarm of college kids — mostly girls. Dean really should have remembered the day, especially when he saw them milling around the bar, but it totally escaped him. "Sorry about this," he says to Sam. "I forgot what day it was."

"No worries, man. I never take Jess dancing, because… well, you know," Sam says sheepishly, and Dean does know. Sammy may have grown up a bit, but he's still all knees and elbows.

Jess appears to be getting along with Jo well enough anyway, dancing and laughing and sort of hanging off one another, all that long blonde hair bouncing under the colored lights, Jess's tan skin contrasting with Jo's pale… Dean has to drag his eyes away and finds that Sam is staring, too.

"Dude, I thought you were supposed to be all enlightened or whatever," Dean says, and Sam's forehead creases in confusion. Dean gestures toward Sam's girlfriend grinding on another chick. "Should you be enjoying this as much as you are?"

"Should _you_?" Sam asks, then his eyes widen and he quickly looks away, grabbing his beer for a long drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" There's no ire behind the question, and Dean can pretty much guess what Sam's getting at. "If you wanna ask me something, Sammy, just do it."

"What? No. Nothing. I don't—" Sam sighs and pushes his hair off his forehead. "You had a steady girlfriend, like, once. And that was back when you were in high school. But then you were always… I mean, I'm talking a lot of girls here, Dean. _A lot_."

Not moving an inch, Dean waits patiently. Sam looks like he wants to chew his own arm off if it'll get him out of this conversation that _he_ started.

"So, what I mean is…" Sam sighs again, eyes darting all around and finally settling on Dean. "Are you not…?"

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, Dean puts him out of his misery. "Cas says I'm a three. On that thing."

"On…" Sam's got scrunchy-thinky face for a minute. "The Kinsey scale?"

"I guess." Dean waves a hand through the air. "I don't care what anybody else wants to call me. I'm with Cas, so it doesn't really matter, right?"

Watching Sam's face soften like that, eyes going all big and liquidy like a baby deer almost makes Dean want to punch him. Then Sam says, softly, "No. It doesn't."

And Dean really needs to get up and out of this emo-pit. "You'd better go grab your girlfriend before she decides to climb a few notches on that scale thingy. I'm getting another drink." He downs the last of his current beer, then starts toward the bar to order another. On the way, he spots Cas leaning against a wall, drink in hand, all by himself. Dean detours to sidle up close to Cas and slide an arm around his waist. "Hey," he says, lips close enough to just brush the shell of Cas's ear.

Cas startles, withdraws a bit before visibly taking a breath and letting himself relax again into Dean's body. It's been years, but Cas still has this reaction most times when they're in public. Dean gets it; after what Cas had been through it's totally understandable. Neither of them are really ones to make-out in public or anything, and Cas likes to avoid confrontation if at all possible. Dean's philosophy, though, goes a little something like this: _Fuck 'em! Who cares what people think?_ If someone were to start shit with him or Cas, he'd fucking show them. But not at the expense of making Cas uncomfortable.

"What're you doing over here?" he asks Cas, who lets him slide both arms around his waist now and hold him so that his back is flush against Dean's chest.

"I thought I'd give you some time to hang out with your brother. It seemed to be going well."

"Yeah." And Dean realizes that Cas is right. It _is_ going well with Sam, much better than he'd let himself hope for. A weight lifts from his chest — something he'd grown so used to over the years that he barely noticed it anymore until it was gone — and he finds he can breathe easy. 

"We'll have to buy a real bed," Cas says, thoughtfully. "For the next time they visit."

Dean rests his chin on Cas's shoulder and kisses the side of his face. "Thank you."

It's almost cruelly unfair, Dean thinks, that he gets Sam back so easily (relatively speaking), while Cas is still cut off from his family, an outcast. Dean almost, _almost_ makes a joke about offering him a little brother for rent anytime he wants one… but the selfish part of him wishes to keep Sammy to himself, just for a little while longer. Besides, as long as Dean's alive, Cas will always have family.

Back at their table, Jo has settled in. She winks at Dean as they approach, evil glint in her eye.

"Aren't you working?" he asks her, not sitting down just yet. Rolling her eyes, Jo pulls herself out of the booth to squeeze past them. "Get us another round!" Dean calls to her before she gets out of earshot. She sticks a thumb up in the air without turning around.

That round turns into another, and another, and they wind up closing down the bar and crawling home at two in the morning. Dean's the only one who stopped drinking hours ago, giving himself time to sober up so he could drive (a few years ago, he'd have just kept going). Getting everyone into the house is a chore and, for the first time since they moved in, they're up later than the loud ass neighbors.

* * *

It's no surprise Dean is the first, and only, person up the next morning. It's closer to noon really, but he decides to let them all sleep a little longer. For a minute, he contemplates getting Sam up so they can hang out, just the two of them for a while today. They've got to be at the airport early tomorrow… and then who knows when he'll see Sammy next? But when he pokes his head into the spare room, Sam and Jess are curled up together on the air mattress fast asleep. She looks small held close in his arms, and his feet are hanging off the edge. Sam totally still snores.

Stealthily, Dean grabs his jacket and keys, and leaves the house. He heads to this little bakery not far from their neighborhood to pick up some muffins and bagels for breakfast. He can't resist purchasing an apple pie, too, for after dinner tonight. On the way back, he stops off at the little grocer's to buy various meats and a bag of charcoal. It's still pretty frickin' cold out, but what hell? He's gonna grill him some steak, dammit.

It's well past lunchtime when he gets back, but everyone seems to have _just_ dragged themselves out of bed and are happy to see Dean with his big box o' baked goods. They eat mostly in quiet contentment, with a few muffled groans. Sam is clearly nursing a hangover, but Jess looks just as good as ever. Cas is about the same as any morning — confused, a little grumpy, but calm.

Everyone's happy about just chillin' out at the house for the day, lying around the living room with the stereo on. Dean busies himself in the kitchen, whipping up his top secret marinade; it's good for pretty much any meat — steak, chicken… some sort of steak stuffed with chicken. It's all good in Dean's book. Sam insists on kabob-ing some veggies — "We need something besides meat, Dean." — so he chops and skewers to his heart's content.

Outside on their back patio (a square slab of concrete offshoot from the driveway, but Cas spruced it up a bit with a little table and a swing… both of which are still in the garage for the winter) Dean gets the fire going in the grill. He wanders in and out of the house to check on things, propping the door open so he can carry plates back and forth. While he's doing _everything_ , the others sit on their asses watching TV.

At least, that's what Dean thought they were doing. Until he comes in from putting the chicken on the grill (the steaks went on first, obviously) and hears Sam's voice from the living room: "Gah! Will no one tell us this 'long story'? You guys are killin' me here."

"Dean certainly won't," Cas says, with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Oh, alright. We met in the pit—sorry, the emergency room."

"Working, right?" Sam asks.

"I was working. He wasn't—"

"Was Dean hurt?"

"Are you going to let me tell the story, Sam?" There's a brief mumbled reply that Dean can't make out, then Cas continues. "He saved a woman's life; that's how we met. Dean brought her in, and her young son, after their car had been hit. The other driver just took off and left them stranded in the middle of the highway. The woman was unconscious, the child was terrified. It was very fortunate that Dean was passing through that night, as well."

"Wait," Sam interrupts again. "So he wasn't, like, an EMT then?"

"No. That wasn't until several months later," Cas says. "He carried that woman into the ER and demanded someone come take care of her _right fucking now_." Dean snorts — Cas's impression of him is crap.

Sammy's chuckling, too. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean."

"And he didn't leave until he knew she and her son would be okay."

"Yeah," Sam repeats, voice softer now. "That sounds like Dean."

"Was she? Okay?" Jess asks. "And the kid?"

"Yes. She sustained some internal bleeding, but I repaired it in surgery. She recovered quickly." Cas pauses, and Dean can just picture his face. "The boy was mostly unharmed. Just scared, I think." Dean remembers that kid. He was pretty cool for an eight year old. Tough, too. He didn't cry once the whole time. Took good care of his mom while she was laid up in that hospital bed, until her husband could get there and take them the rest of the way home.

"Wow." Sam's voice sounds again, quieter. "My big brother was always kind of a hero."

"Yes. He is," Cas says tenderly. "Meeting Dean helped me a great deal, Sam. More than he'll ever know."

Heat flares up inside him, and Dean feels the urge to clear his throat but finds he can't quite swallow. He retraces his steps to the back door, opening it and letting it bang shut loudly, stomping back through the kitchen. "Chicken's on! Give it a few minutes, turn 'em over, then toss your vegetables on, Sam." He says all this before he enters the living room. When he gets there, they all look up at him as if they weren't talking about anything at all just then.

"Okay." Sammy just nods and smiles.

* * *

"I think we're all packed," Sam says, entering the kitchen. Dean glances up from the dishes in the sink — Sam's hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward.

"Uh. Okay." It's almost over. Sam will be leaving again soon. "What time is your flight?"

"Nine." Sam sort of ambles around the kitchen table, socks sliding easily across the linoleum. "Um, so…"

Dean wipes his hands on the dish towel briskly, and goes to open up the fridge to grab the milk. "You want another piece of pie?"

"Um," Sam laughs a little, "no thanks, man. It's all yours."

"Your loss," Dean says, cutting himself a slice. He could eat the whole remaining wedge left in the pie pan, but figures he'll save it for tomorrow. 

"I like Cas."

He looks up at Sam, eyebrows raised. "Good. Me, too."

With another laugh, Sam finally sits down in the closest kitchen chair. "So, you like totally stole my thunder. With your, um, announcement. I had some news and…"

"I fucking knew it!" Dean winces — that was a little too loud — and lowers his voice. And the knife he's still holding in his hand. He sets it in the sink and scoops up his plate to bring it over to the table. Leaning over, he hisses, "You and Jess are getting married, aren't you?"

"What?" Sam's eyes go wide. "No! That's not—I mean, we've talked about—but not for… um, we have a plan. It's a five year plan. She thinks we should finish—I mean, wait. Just… let me tell you my news. And… um. Okay. So, I got in. To law school." Dean can see he's trying to hold back his grin, but can't quite manage it.

"That's awesome, man." Dean sets his fork back down, bite of pie nearly forgotten. "You should've said sooner, we coulda gone out to celebrate."

"Well, I found out a while ago. I mean, I've known for a while and I wanted to tell you right away, but… it wasn't something I wanted to just do over the phone…" he trails off. "You know?"

"Heh, yeah, I might know something about that, Sammy." He nods, smile pulling at his lips. "So where ya going?"

"Stanford, actually. So, it's still another few years in California."

Dean whistles. "Nice. That's a… I mean, it's a good school, which you already know 'cuz you already go there." He stops, frowns. "You okay for money? I mean, law school, that's gotta be pricey."

"No, Dean, I'm good." Sam's face flushes. "I've got scholarships, and work study, and I've got this internship lined up for the summer. It's unpaid, but it'll be good experience for me."

"This is great, Sam. Wait, wait." Dean gets up and opens the fridge again. He pulls out two beers and hands one to his brother. "We can do a sort of proper toast, here. Well, a Winchester toast, anyway." He pops the tab and holds up his beer. "Well?" he asks when Sam doesn't move.

"There's one more thing first," Sam says, and he _fidgets_ in his seat, like he used to when he was gearing up to ask Dad for something. "See, graduation is at the end of May. For both me and Jess, and…" He bites his lip and finally looks up to meet Dean's eye. "We'd like… Dean, I would really like it if you could be there. I mean, if you can get away from work and everything. And Cas, too! He should definitely be there, and you guys could even stay with us. We don't have a guest room, but the sofa's a pullout and it's actually not bad to sleep on. But, um, you know, don't feel like you _have_ to. I understand if you can't get time—"

"Sam! Sammy." Dean waits for him to take a breath. "Of course we'll come to your graduation."

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah." He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, and it feels weird for a second, until Sam shifts, sort of leaning into him.

Sam opens his beer and raises it to Dean. "You know you're gonna have to get on a plane, right?"

"There _are_ roads to California." Dean knocks his beer against Sam's head. "Drink up, bitch."

"You're such a jerk," Sam says, smoothing his hair down and biting his lip to hide his grin.

Dean squeezes Sam's shoulder. It's a start.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This story was not supposed to be this long. What started out as a fluffy "what if" scenario turned into a meandering ramble of life. It… rather got away from me. The story of how Dean and Cas met and got together is being written as a "prequel" and might be finished soon. (Also, I apologize for any inaccuracies of the Emergency Medical Services — it was all based off internet research and a friend who was an ambulance driver.)


End file.
